Tears
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: I knew this day was coming. I've known it since the day that I met you. But I will not cry. I stopped crying a long time ago. I regret this day, but I will not cry.


_I knew this day was coming. I've known it since the day that I met you. But I will not cry. I stopped crying a long time ago. I regret this day, but I will not cry._

**Tears**

On edge, Magnus shifted in the near silent room. The three Shadowhunters had gone off on a demon-slaying mission, or something that was to that extent. Magnus hadn't heard. He'd been desperately trying to convey with his eyes that Alec should _not_ go out on that mission. He'd had a dream- not unlike the one about the city of blood so long ago. He knew it wasn't a normal dream, but he hadn't had the chance to discuss it with Alec.

Alec had been acting strangely on this particular day. He'd been all jittery: pacing, fidgeting, shifting about. Magnus hadn't had the time to ask before that blonde-haired Herondale had herded them out of the house like some hapless puppy.

The warlock had almost trailed after them. Almost. But, he'd forced himself into the chair, tense and awaiting, thinking over the dream.

Not unlike so many of his unconscious tellings, there had been blood. But quite unlike his unconscious tellings, that blood had been a striking blue. He knew that blue. He knew that blue anywhere.

His phone buzzed- the number on the screen flashed with the words _Alec's Sister_. Dread flooded through Magnus' veins before he'd even accepted the call, and was halfway down the hall before Isabelle had uttered the words "It's Alec".

And it hadn't been the first time that Magnus had had this dream. It had been ongoing, for quite some time now. He'd just never had the heart to think about it as a prophetic dream, even though it was. He couldn't bear to tell Alec. But, he found that hiding it had been a terrible option as well.

In the end, it didn't matter now. His footfalls were loud against the pavement as he took off for Central Park. It wasn't a long run, but each moment was precious. Especially when Isabelle's voice sounded that terrible. Isabelle never looked, or sounded, terrible.

Terrible it was. A bloody mess, like his dreams had forewarned. Only he hadn't been strong enough to try and do anything about it. For a few weeks, he'd thought that it was a misinterpretation on his behalf. How he longed for it to be a misinterpretation. But, oh, how he was wrong.

He fell to his knees next to Alec, muttering a long strand of words that flowed together in the spell. Ever familiar blue sparks were at his fingertips, but his heart was at his throat, and he was having the most awful time breathing.

What caused that feeling was the fact that he could see Alec wasn't breathing.

And then other words broke his lips, not part of the spell, but an utterance of dejection. "Damn you, Alexander."

He'd learned, after eight hundred years, when something was a lost battle. He'd learned what Death looked like. And Death, on this day, looked like Alexander Lightwood.

XxXxXxX

Magnus shifted uneasily in the nearly silent room. Funerals. They were never good for him. Especially not when the one he'd come to realize he loved the most was the one lying in the coffin.

"Stupid Nephilim..." he muttered under his breath, but he knew he was just humouring himself. It was just his way of dealing with it. He didn't hate Alexander. He loved him. He always would.

_From the beginning, I've dreaded this day. But, why did it have to come so soon!_

He clamped his teeth together on a noise that had been fighting to escape. No. He would not cry. Not after eight hundred years. Not now.

Alexander was watching him. Alexander wouldn't want him to cry. Not over him.

But, Magnus hadn't wanted him to die. He hadn't wanted him to go away forever.

He turned his gaze away from the service, looking hard at the nearest wall. It was humourous, really, but even eight hundred years wouldn't prepare you for losing the one you loved. And Alexander Lightwood had been _the_ one. It wasn't saying much, coming from someone like himself, he knew. But, losing someone had never hurt this badly.

_I will not cry. I will not shed any tears over the death of another person. Not again. I will not... I... _

"I'm sorry, Alec," he murmured, and he felt the tears he'd been for so long hiding break their waning restraints.

**This is what happens when I'm upset. So sorry, Alec, but my Magpie is immortal. It had to be you.**

**Magnus may be not the type to break down and sob, but I think if he ever lost Alec, there'd be a tear or two shed. That's just me, perhaps. I hope we never have to witness something like this in The Mortal Instruments series.**


End file.
